He had begun to shave himself the day he felt he loved his barber. The town discovered his feelings the very day he did, and promptly prophesied trouble. “Jest es soon es he felt like marryin’ her he should hev broke her into shavin’ weekdays, an’ kep’ a clean chin on him all the time,” was what every one said. Of course, in the eyes of her townspeople Emma put on airs also, for she took to going to church. She never went so far as to stand during the singing, for that would have cost her all her trade. No one stands up in the extremely unorthodox Methodist chapel Soot City operatives affect, except those who are converted or those desiring the prayers of converts. Now, Jarlsen stood always and was never criticised. His friends said he could sing better if he stood. No one ever asked him if this were true, because they were sure he would say it was not. Thus it may appear that Soot City was not religious, except at blast rites and funerals. Emma’s heart grew mellow with his singing as she sat beside him. She loved him dearly, as young women do love the men who enrich their lives; there was a large element of gratitude in what she felt. She never talked as the others talked about their men, for, as was said, she was a very good woman. And so she got the name of being a lady. The others hated her, and most of the men asked her advice and acted on it. On the eve of her wedding she sat in her white pique wedding dress, listening to the snarl of the country fiddles as they were played for the dancers. They snarled for two reasons: they were not good fiddles and they were not well played. The bride-elect was not to go into the dancing room--erst kitchen and tonsorial arena--until Jarlsen came and led her thither. He was a little behind his time, she thought, but her serenity remained complete. There had been yet no clamour of voices and no clatter of feet, going the faster because so near the last dance. She could hear her name and Jarlsen’s. One man told how he had gone to pay off the extra men who were to be discharged after the blast by the new vein. She remembered that Quarry was on that detail as machinist. That made her think it must have been a long job, for Quarry’s voice carried wonderfully, and she did not distinguish it among the others in the kitchen. Her mind wandered to the consideration of the capabilities of her shaving apron as a cover for the packing-box her lover sat on when he played. That suggested to her the probability she should never shave again, and that no woman would dare after her marriage to stand in her doorway and say in venomous admiration, “How elegant you shave!” They had done it often heretofore, God knew. Her window was raised slightly, and some one tapped on the jamb. She turned her head at this usual intrusion. “Come off, Quarry!” she said hotly.